


Phantom Shadows

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Ghosts, Gore, Hurt No Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius has a graphic nightmare, again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom Shadows

Marius is walking, for hours and hours through the familiar streets, his feet moving without input from him, the streetlamps barely lighting the way. He knows how this ends, how it always does. Wandering round, and round, and round, through Paris but it will end. It always is the same. A chilly breeze makes him shiver and he limps through empty streets and deserted plazas and parks.

He stops at the cafe. Or, what used to be the cafe. The Musain is only recognizable by its geographic location, its sign and furniture and everything defining about it to a stranger are gone, but Marius knows it too well.

He wants to stop but he can’t, climbing up the splintered pieces of stairs to the second floor, his feet echoing on the wood and his cane adding in an extra tap as he moved. He comes to the room that used to be filled with life, now only has him and the breeze with broken unusable furniture. Paint is peeling from the walls and if he brushes his hand against it it comes off like eggshell pieces.

Waiting.

Waiting.

There is no way out, not with his bad foot. His breath is loud and he wants to cry preemptively, maybe they won’t come if he cries, but no tears flow to his aid.

The night would be peaceful if it wasn’t so still and tense. Marius had once loved the night but now he walked with fear and chest pains. There is not another living soul in Paris and he feels terror course through him but is rooted to the floor, paralyzed.

The singing starts.

It is less singing, and more of a hum. It is a thrum of energy, light and eerie, coming from nowhere but everywhere. The whispers grow slightly louder and are now distinct voices, floating out around him and manifesting themselves.

Each spirit carries a candle, walking slowly in a circle around him. Had this not happened before he would have no idea who they were but of course he knew, how could he not? The flickering warm light illuminated each ghost and their injuries but only vaguely outlining their face just so he could tell who was who. Cuts here and there, a bullet wound in the side of Courfeyrac’s head, all walking in a circle before turning elsewhere. They wander the room, looking through Marius and letting him see them as they stared blankly through him, murmuring a wordless mantra.

Combeferre carried his candle evenly and paid no attention to the deep, flowing stab wounds in his chest. His blood dripped to the floor and stayed, staining the wood as he gazing at the wall behind Marius. Bossuet’s arm hangs awkwardly at his side, broken in three places, as he holds his candle with one hand, casting light on his bullet wounds. Feuilly has burn marks spiraling up his chest visible through his burn off shirt, implying that he had died trapped in a burning part of the barricade. Bahorel was perhaps once of the worst to see, darkened with bruises and cuts, the darkest being bruises around his neck highlighting his slit throat. No, Jehan was worse, his delicate fingers broken at odd angles and dark blotches on his shirt, the entire firing squad must have shot him.

Each of his friends walked around and through him with blank faces, inhuman, strange. He tried to lift his foot or run but nothing happened. Not even his head would turn. Only now did tears start flowing as he looked at his friend’s injured and deformed bodies.

Their faces. Marius fills with dread and prays hard.

Please do not show me, he prayed to himself. He could only tell each apart and he did not want them thrown into full light.

They were not human, he knew. They simply felt inhuman. There was no soul left in them, only imprints, footprints of their former selves.

They were not his friends.

Once they were aware of him, the malice would come, he knew it would. He watches Grantaire drag his foot and limp, spilling hot candle wax over his hands and not even being aware of the burns it leaves. Courfeyrac comes into view again and Marius notices more wounds near his heart and kidneys.

Joly passes through him from behind.

Marius’s heart stops.

Joly is inches from Marius. He stops walking and murmuring, and so do the rest of the ghosts in the room.

He turns, bringing the candle up to his face.

Marius screams as hard as he can, shattering the silence as Joly’s eyeless face stares balefully at Marius. His sockets are bloody and empty, slashed out from bayonets and so close Marius can see each detail in them as he still is perfectly still aside from his mouth and the keening from his throat.

All of a sudden, Marius can move.

He turns quickly from Joly and sees Feuilly’s face thrown into sharp relief, half of it burned away, an eye swollen shut and his skin pink and waxy. Bahorel is next, missing teeth and bleeding out from his gums.

Pain ripples through Marius’s entire body and he’s still screaming, howling so much and so loud blood is coming up through his throat at the horror and guilt of what he sees. Courfeyrac, his sweet Courfeyrac, had been shot at point blank it seemed through the nose and had taken a bayonet blade to the face, missing most of his cheek and showing a stab wound on the roof of his mouth.

As Marius chokes on his blood and is still howling Enjolras comes up and Marius sees an ear and part of his upper lip are missing. Enjolras smiles maliciously and Marius wants to run far, far away as Enjolras as he blows his candle out, his foul breath making Marius nearly vomit.

All around him, the other spirits blow their candles out with a light whoosh but they are still there, hideous creatures in the pitch black night brushing up against him now and laughing as his tears and blood trickle down, adding to the stains on the floor, making him suffer for living, resenting him for not coming with them through this hell he should have had.

-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

Marius snapped awake, still screaming and crying to himself. He was alone in bed, He whimpered and lit a lantern, too scared to sit in the darkness or make due with a candle.

He ached all over and wiped his face off, shaking and still crying. He longed to fall back asleep but stayed up so he would not have a second nightmare that night.

It would happen again tomorrow anyway.


End file.
